November 4, 2015

The Werewolf and the Maine Man: an interview + giveaway w/ Glenn Rolfe, author of "Blood and Rain"

The
light of a full moon reveals many secrets.

Gilson
Creek, Maine. A safe, rural community. Summer is here. School is out
and the warm waters of Emerson Lake await. But one man's terrible
secret will unleash a nightmare straight off the silver screen. Under
the full moon, a night of terror and death re-awakens horrors long
sleeping. Sheriff Joe Fischer, a man fighting for the safety of his
daughter, his sanity and his community, must confront the sins of his
past. Can Sheriff Fischer set Gilson Creek free from the beast hiding
in its shadows, or will a small town die under a curse it can't even
comprehend? One night can-and will-change everything.

Gef: So how did Blood and Rain come about? Was it as simple
as "Dang it, I want to write a werewolf novel!" or
something else?

Glenn: Actually, it kind of was. I’d just finished reading Cycle of
the Werewolf and sort of realized that there wasn’t that much
werewolf fiction out there (this was circa 2004—and there was
plenty out there, but I wasn’t aware of it). My older brother,
Greg, LOVED the werewolf. I remember him showing me The Howling,
Silver Bullet, and Wolf (w/Jack Nicholson). Those stuck with me.

I started writing after he passed away from cancer in 2010. That next
summer, I wrote the first draft of Blood and Rain.

Gef: What's the allure of the werewolf legend for you? Is
there a book or film that captured your attention as a child perhaps?

Glenn: Silver Bullet was the first werewolf movie I remember loving,
but I’d say for a young Glenn, it was the intro to Michael
Jackson’s Thriller music video that captured my attention. It was
so frigging scary to watch gentle Michael transform into this wicked
beast.

Gef: Is there something particular about Maine that just
lends itself so well to the horror genre?

Glenn: Lots of woods. Lots of crazy weather. Lots of isolation. Lots
of small towns. I live near the state capital (Augusta, Me). It is a
small city. There really is no big city out here. I think if you add
all of those things up, you wind up with a lot of perfect horror
settings.

Gef: Now the first draft of this novel was the first
novel-length work you'd ever written, but not the first to get
published. Did the time removed from it help it honing it into what
it is now? Were you set to leave it as a trunk novel and tackle
something brand new rather than revise it?

Glenn: The time helped immensely. The first draft was horrible. I had
no idea what I was doing. In the meantime, I bought as many writing
books as I could, enrolled in an online college, and just kept
writing. In 2013, as I was starting my next novel (The Haunted
Halls), I pulled the Blood and Rain MS back out, cleaned
it up a bit and sent it to an editor. I pitched it to a few places
and often found that during my pitch, whether it was my pitch itself
or the questions asked by the editors, certain pieces didn’t make
sense. I set it aside again and worked on my two novellas that would
eventually land with Samhain. By the time my editor from Samhain
asked me for a novel I knew I wanted it to be Blood and Rain.
I rewrote a giant chunk of the story in the summer of 2014 and wound
up with the draft that’s out there now.

I cared too much for these characters and my beast to let this one
die. I always figured that when I was good enough, I would find a way
to make the MS work. I just wasn’t a good enough writer yet. I’m
still just getting started.

Gef: How would you gauge your progression as a writer thus
far? You've been getting the thumbs up from some talented cats in the
horror community, Ronald Malfi and Nate Kenyon to name a couple.

Glenn: I’m starting to get a good feel for it. I think with each
piece, I get a little bit better. The cool thing is that neither Ron
nor Nate are bull shitters. Nate told me up front when I first
approached him a few years ago about a different piece that he
wouldn’t sugar coat his review. That scared the piss outta me and I
never went back to him with that one. Once Ron came back with his say
on Blood and Rain, only then did I dare to reach out to Nate again.

Basically, I’m still a baby in this industry. I have a shit ton to
learn. What I am is persistent and highly motivated. I think that
shows in my progress and in my catalog. I’m eager to learn and I’m
excited that anybody out there enjoys what I’ve created thus far.

Gef: Christmas keeps trying to horn in on Halloween's
action earlier each year. What's to be done about this effrontery?

Glenn: I think Christmas really got pissed when Jack Skellington came
along. I don’t know what to do about it. I do know that horror and
Halloween seem to be growing, too. It felt like we really celebrated
it for the entire month of October, didn’t it? That’s something.
But Christmas is still a juggernaut. We just have to live with it.

Gef: What other irons do you have in the fire? And how can
folks keep up with your Blood and Ruin blog tour?

As for what’s to come? My next Samhain novella (Things We Fear)
and my Samhain novella collection (Where Nightmares Begin)
will both be out in March of 2016. Samhain will also be reprinting my
other novel, The Haunted Halls, in November of next year.

There is a lot more coming behind those ones, but I never know which
ones will be ready first.

Glenn
Rolfe is an author, singer, songwriter and all around fun loving guy
from the haunted woods of New England. He has studied Creative
Writing at Southern New Hampshire University, and continues his
education in the world of horror by devouring the novels of Stephen
King and Richard Laymon. He and his wife, Meghan, have three
children, Ruby, Ramona, and Axl. He is grateful to be loved despite
his weirdness.

Praise
for Blood
and Rain

“A
major new talent rises from the Maine woods…Rolfe is the real deal,
and Blood and Rain is a classic monster novel, full of blood and
teeth and the kind of razor sharp writing that makes the pages sing.
Small town horror is back, with a vengeance!” –Nate Kenyon,
award-winning author of Sparrow
Rock, Diablo: Storm of Light
and Day
One

"With
slashing claws and blood-soaked fur, Blood and Rain will have you
howling in terror and delight. A welcome addition to the werewolf
mythos, and proof that we're in the presence of a rising star in the
genre. Highly recommended!" -Ronald Malfi, author of The
Floating Staircase

“Rolfe
tells a tale that captures your attention like King without all of
the wordiness. He also spills the red stuff like Laymon…” –
Into the Macabre

“Blood
and Rain is a monumental piece of horror fiction. It represents
everything I love about werewolves, creature features, siege films,
and everything else in between. It is still early in the year, but
this is a clear cut candidate for my favorite book of 2015.” —
Horror Underground

“…not
just another werewolf story, Rolfe has managed to take the werewolf
to a-whole-nother level…” – Horror Novel Reviews

For
a chance to win a print copy of Glenn Rolfe’s short story
collection, Slush, or a chance to win your choice of any of his
titles in e-book format, go to the link below for the Rafflecopter
sign-up. Good luck! The print copy is only good for those in the
United States. Questions can be referred to Erin Al-Mehairi,
publicist, at hookofabook(at)hotmail(dot)com.

Stan
Springs stared at the curse in the night sky. His curse. He clenched
his jaw, and bit back the grunts that demanded release from within
his sweat-covered body. His muscles tightened and took turns throwing
fits. He could feel his heartbeat’s thunderous barrage at work
inside his heaving chest. It was only a matter of minutes before the
changes would come.

He
ripped his gaze from the clouds, moved away from the window and knelt
down next to the bed against the concrete wall. He slipped one shaky
hand beneath the mattress and found the small incision he’d made
when he first arrived at the institution. He had traded a guard, a
heavyset fella by the name of Harold Barnes, his prized Ted Williams
rookie card in exchange for a copy of the key. Parting with this gold
mine had been necessary. Stan Springs had nothing else of value with
which to barter. Harold trusted him enough to make the swap; he told
Stan there were crazies here by the dozen, but he could tell that
Stan was not one of them.

No,
Harold, I’m something far worse.

Key
in hand, Stan stepped to the unlocked door and cracked it open. The
hallway was clear. He moved down the corridor, as stealthily as
during his heydays working on the force in New York. Hearing
footfalls ahead and to his left, he fell back and pressed his large
frame against the custodial door. Hidden by the entryway’s shadow,
he watched Nurse Collins—a tall, thin woman with a dark
complexion—pass fifty feet from where he stood, before she
disappeared into the nurses’ break room.

Barefoot
and dressed in only a Red Sox T-shirt and his sleeping shorts, Stan
made a break for the staircase across the hall. His breaths were
coming faster now. If he didn’t hurry, he wouldn’t make it
outside. He crept down the steps leading to the main hallway.

Through
the small window on the stairwell door, he could see Harold Barnes’s
haunted jowls illuminated by the laptop screen in front of him. The
old man’s eyes were closed, his mouth open. Harold hadn’t even
made it an hour into his shift before he was out. Stan knew Harold
also ran his own antique shop in the neighboring town of Hallowell.
He’d told Stan that working both jobs on the same day, which was
sometimes unavoidable, made it difficult for him on the night shift.
It was another shared nugget Stan had stored away for nights like
this one—the nights the beast in him needed to get out.

Easing
the door open, Stan skulked his way along the shadows on the wall,
and tiptoed to the main entrance door. Despite the cramps now
rampaging through his calves and thighs, he slipped the procured key
into the lock, slow and steady. The door clicked open, and he stepped
out into the night.

As
the cool breeze brushed against the sweat of his brow, the tendons
and bones in his face began to shift. The rest of his body followed
suit. He dropped to one knee and cried out. His skin, his scalp, his
eyes, his muscles were all too tight. He reached behind him and
managed to push the door shut.

If
you could see me now, Harold.

The
private roads out front were deserted. He launched from the
building’s stairs and landed on the lawn below, making a beeline
for the woods to the left of the large property.

He
was twenty feet from the forest when the change hit him like a
massive wave, crashing him to the ground. His muscles clenched and
squeezed and tore, while the bones of his face continued to crack and
grow. His teeth began to fall out in place of the monster’s. Down
on all fours, he crawled to the tree cover and vomited. A mix of last
night’s cafeteria meat loaf, black coffee, loose teeth, and blood
splashed the ferns before him. Stan’s fingers extended as his claws
dug into the soft soil of spring’s floor. He moaned and grunted his
way through the rest of the fluid process.

In
full beast mode, Stan Springs stood and howled at the cloud-covered
sky. The creatures of the night became ghosts among the trees. He
felt the strength flowing through him and the hunger begging to be
sated.

He
burst forward, headed north. Despite Stan’s best effort to control
the beast’s killing zone, he found himself heading home.